Contrary to common belief – especially the belief of all his acquaintances – the common misanthrope does not hate his family members. Sometimes he even likes the old bastards. He just prefers doing it by remote. If he has the means, he will probably move to another country, thus saving himself much unnecessary headache. The average misanthrope, however, will occasionally be forced, in contradiction to both his will and common sense, to participate in a family gathering.

Thus comes the big clash between the family’s unexplained desire to meet the prodigal son as much as possible and the prodigal son’s desire to meet the family, and, come to think of it, anyone else, as little as possible, preferably not at all. The family has an unfair advantage here, it being the multitude of events that require a gathering: holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, Bar Mitzvahs, circumcision ceremonies, Friday night. The misanthrope, however, also has an unfair disadvantage, it being the fact that he doesn’t give a damn. He will gladly explain that holidays are anachronistic and barbaric manifestations of ancient and idiotic customs, birthdays are a sham, Bar Mitzvah and circumcision he’s already had once, which was more than enough, and on Friday night he’s busy – he’s reading a book. The family, of course, will refuse to accept any of this, but to no avail, since the misanthrope will simply fail to arrive, and when asked or yelled about it later will merely say, “that’s the way it is, get used to it.”

This mode of behavior can work splendidly for many months, sometimes even years, until disaster strikes: a really-big-event-which-cannot-be-missed. Say, a parent celebrating half a century of life, most of which dedicated to nudging. This will cause the whole family to unite in dragging the poor misanthrope, the cute and gifted wandering lamb (says mother), that idiot (says father), to the family gathering. And thus, forced by the unfair laws of physics manifested in the fact that three uncles and one father have a combined mass of about twelve times his own, he will find himself bound to a long dinner table in front of many relatives that he has not met for years and never grieved their absence.

If you’ve had the misfortune of stumbling into a family dinner, you may identify the misanthrope quite easily by the following signs:

He’ll be late. He’ll arrive at the latest possible time, hoping in vain to reduce the amount of suffering he’ll need to endure.

He’ll take a sit as far as possible from the most talkative, jolly or drunk relative. If there are babies anywhere, he’ll treat them in the same friendly and easygoing way in which Europe accepted the black plague.

He will not show any affection towards his parents and siblings. In fact, the way he’ll stare at them would convince anyone of lesser knowledge than yourselves that in fact he hates them more than anything in this world. In fact, the people of lesser knowledge would be right in this case: at the moment there’s nothing in this world which the misanthrope hates more than the people who made him come here. This felling will pass. Eventually. Maybe.

When some fool will try to start a conversation with him, the misanthrope’s reply will seem to be an outright insolence (if you’re the grandmother), a sheer vulgarity (if you’re one of the uncles) or a bit of really funny and witty humor (if you’re a child under 7). With a bit of luck, it will offend the silly do-gooder enough to silence him for the rest of the event.

If sentimental speeches are involved, take a good look at the misanthrope – it is very rare to see that extreme amount of hatred emitting from a single person.

Same as above – if one of the babies starts crying.

Finally the misanthrope will find a way, a reason or an excuse to go away, and the world will look brighter. Especially to him.

In summary, if you are the proud parents, siblings, uncles, aunts or other relatives of a misanthrope, here are a couple of tips which will help you survive a family dinner in his company:

The Tel Aviv Dossier, the weird apocalypse novel I wrote with Lavie Tidhar, is now available in a new Kindle edition. The spiffy new cover art is bySarah Anne Langton. You can get it on Amazon or Amazon UK.

Into the city of Tel Aviv the whirlwinds come, and nothing will ever be the same.

Through a city torn apart by a violence they cannot comprehend, three disparate people—a documentary film-maker, a yeshiva student, and a psychotic fireman—must try to survive, and try to find meaning: even if it means being lost themselves. As Tel Aviv is consumed, a strange mountain rises at the heart of the city, and shows the outline of what may be another, alien world beyond. Can there be redemption there? Can the fevered rumours of a coming messiah be true?

As the city loses contact with the outside world and closes in on itself, as the few surviving children play and scavenge in the ruins, can innocence survive, and is it possible for hope to spring amid such chaos?

A potent mixture of biblical allusions, Lovecraftian echoes, and contemporary culture, The Tel Aviv Dossier is part supernatural thriller, part meditation on the nature of belief—an original and involving novel painted on a vast canvas in which, beneath the despair, humour is never absent.